Chapter 24 – Matías
The moment I step into the warehouse, my gun is already raised, my grip firm, steady.
The scent of oil and blood hangs thick in the air, clinging to the rusted walls and pooling in the cracks of the concrete floor.
The dim overhead lights flicker, casting long, wavering shadows across the space, illuminating the mess that’s already been made.
Elias is sprawled on the ground, a mess of ragged breathing and labored groans.
His fingers are slick with the blood leaking from his stomach, his chest heaving in uneven, struggling gasps.
He shifts slightly, his boots scuffing weakly against the ground, his body failing him even as he fights to cling to what little life he has left.
I don’t give him a chance.
The gun doesn’t waver as I pull the trigger.
The first shot punches into his chest with a dull, wet sound. His body jerks violently, a strangled gasp choking out of him. His fingers twitch, curling in toward his wound, instinctively trying to stop the inevitable.
The second shot follows before he can even think to beg. It rips through him with finality, his spine arching for half a second before he collapses fully. His limbs twitch, his breath coming in rapid, desperate bursts, his body refusing to understand what his mind already knows.
The third is the last thing he will ever feel. His body slumps, his head falling back against the concrete with a dull thud. His fingers splay open, his blood pooling outward in thick, sluggish rivulets that seep into the floor.
The silence that follows is heavy. Weighted.
I lower the gun just slightly, rolling my shoulders, exhaling through my nose. The tension still coils in my muscles, the residual heat of adrenaline refusing to cool. My gaze sweeps upward, scanning the space, searching for the next loose end I have to tie up.
And then my eyes land on her.
Renata stands motionless, her expression impossible to read.
Her hands remain at her sides, neither clenched nor raised in surrender.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step back, doesn’t make a sound.
Her gaze doesn’t dart to Elias. She doesn’t spare him a single glance, as if she already knew this would happen, as if she never really expected him to make it out of here alive.
I lift the gun again and take a step toward her.
She doesn’t move.
I take another step.
Still, she holds her ground, her gaze locked on mine, unreadable, unwavering. There’s no fear in her, no hesitation. She’s waiting. Bracing. Resigned.
My finger tightens over the trigger.
Then, a movement—quick, small, but unmistakable.
Noa steps between us.
Her body blocks my line of fire, her presence sudden and absolute. Her breath is uneven, her hands trembling, but the gun in her grasp is pointed at me. Her eyes meet mine, wide and bright, shining with something I can’t place. Her shoulders shake, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t lower the weapon.
I stop.
Not because I have to. Not because she could stop me if I wanted to finish this.
But because something in the way she stands, in the way she looks at me, makes me pause.
Her hands may tremble, but her eyes do not.
She is not afraid.
She has never looked more like my wife than she does now.
Noa’s chest rises and falls too quickly, her breath shallow but controlled. Her fingers tighten around the gun, knuckles pale with the strain, but she holds it steady. There’s something raw in her eyes, something that makes my pulse hammer against my ribs.
Her voice is rough, hoarse, as if the words are being dragged from the deepest part of her.
"Matías, please. Bring her into the fold."
The plea doesn’t match the steel in her stance. Her body is taut, braced for resistance, but her voice—her voice shakes with something too fragile to be ignored.
I say nothing, watching as she swallows hard, lifting her chin slightly.
"She’s smart. She’s capable. She just wanted to be seen." Noa’s breath wavers, but she pushes forward, her words coming faster, as if saying them quickly will keep them from shattering. "She was trying to save me."
My grip on my gun doesn’t shift.
I glance at Renata. She stands completely still, her expression unreadable, her breathing measured. She isn’t pleading for her life. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. She’s just waiting, watching Noa with something like reluctant admiration in her eyes.
I look back at my wife. My wife, who is standing between me and my vengeance, who is holding me at gunpoint not because she doubts I will pull the trigger—but because she refuses to let me.
My jaw clenches. My voice is quiet, but firm. "Then why didn’t you let her?"
Noa’s breath stutters, but she doesn’t drop her gaze. "Because I didn’t think I needed to be saved from you."
Something sharp twists deep in my chest, something unfamiliar and unnamable. Noa shakes her head, her free hand curling into a fist at her side. "I chose to believe the best in Elias. I choose to believe the best in Ren."
Her voice drops, barely above a whisper now. "And I choose to believe the best in you."
The words settle into the space between us, sinking into my skin like a slow-burning brand. Noa’s fingers tremble slightly where they grip the gun, but her aim doesn’t falter.
She inhales, a ragged, unsteady breath. "That you aren’t a beast. That you aren’t a monster. That you care for me. That you have it in your heart, and I know you have one, because I have seen it, to love me and my baby."
My stomach turns to stone.
Her lips part again, and the next words shake harder than any of the others.
"To pardon my friend."
Noa stares at me, her entire body trembling now, but she doesn’t lower the gun.
She’s still waiting for an answer.
The weight of her words presses down on me like a slow, suffocating force, heavier than any bullet wound, any fight, any war I have ever waged.
I stare at Noa, at the way her fingers tremble against the trigger. Not out of fear, but from the sheer effort of holding her ground. The plea in her voice still lingers in the air between us, and for the first time, I feel something crack along the edges of my resolve.
"It isn’t realistic, Noa."
She flinches like I struck her. The expression that flashes across her face—quick, but devastating—is something I don’t want to name.
Renata doesn’t move, doesn’t react. If she feels the noose tightening around her neck, she doesn’t show it. I keep my eyes locked on Noa, watching as she struggles to swallow down her emotions, as she lifts her chin even as her shoulders tighten.
"Renata will never be part of the Arias cartel," I say, each word measured, unshakable. "She cannot be trusted."
Noa closes her eyes for half a second, inhaling sharply through her nose. When she looks at me again, there’s something new there. Not anger. Not defiance. Just understanding—painful, sharp, and deep.
But she doesn’t argue.
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. The barrel of my gun is still trained on Renata, but the urgency, the inevitability, has dulled. I feel it in my bones—the shift, the turning of something I don’t fully understand.
I exhale, slow and controlled. "But you’re right. I do care for you."
Noa’s throat bobs, her grip tightening just slightly on the gun, as if bracing for whatever I’m going to say next.
I take another step forward. "And because of that, I will allow her to go."
Renata’s expression flickers. Just barely. But I see it. A moment of surprise, of disbelief. I don’t give her time to process it before I continue.
"I will spare her, so long as I never see her again."
Noa’s lips part, but she doesn’t speak.
I take another step toward her, lowering my gun just enough that my words hit with full force. "Because if I do… if I catch her trying to weasel back close to you, I will remove every trace of her from this earth."
Renata exhales slowly. Her silence is the only thing that convinces me she understands.
Noa is still watching me, still processing, still holding onto something I can’t see.
"That is the only mercy I can extend."
And now, Noa has a choice to make.
Noa doesn’t move. She doesn’t lower the gun, doesn’t speak, doesn’t shift her gaze from mine.
There’s something unyielding in her stance, something fierce and untamed, but beneath it—beneath the anger and the heartbreak—I see hesitation.
I see the war inside her, the struggle between everything she’s ever known and everything she wants to believe.
I don’t push her. I don’t force the decision from her lips. I wait.
Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, she exhales. Slow. Steady.
Her fingers tighten around the gun one last time before she lowers it.
The moment it’s no longer pointed at me, something in my chest loosens. A knot I hadn’t realized was there, something wound too tight, now unspooling.
Her voice is soft but unwavering. "I won’t get rid of my baby."
There’s no room for argument in her tone, no space for negotiation. She’s telling me. Declaring it like a vow, like a line drawn in the sand.
I don’t hesitate.
"I never asked you to."
Her breath catches slightly, her lips parting in something close to shock. I take a slow step toward her, watching the way her shoulders tense, the way her hands curl into fists at her sides.
"Every part of you is a part of me," I say, quieter now. "You are my wife."
Noa’s eyes search mine, something raw and uncertain flickering behind them.
"Whatever kind of leader you think I am," I continue, my voice steady, my words final, "I am one who keeps his vows."
She stares at me, unmoving, as if trying to find the cracks in my resolve. As if waiting for me to take it back, to tell her there’s another price to pay. But there isn’t.
There never was.
Something shifts in her gaze, something that wasn’t there before. A slow realization, a quiet acceptance, a choice made not from fear, but from understanding.
Her chin lifts slightly. "Then I am a queen who honors hers."
The finality in her words settles over us, not heavy like a burden, but solid. Certain. A foundation, unshaken.
Noa has made her choice.
And so have I.